Mistake
by huggs5
Summary: Seb was forced to bury Jim out in their little country house in the middle of no where. And now Seb has seven weeks before he runs out of food and must find other un-conventional ways of coping other than sleeping it all off. T for triggering themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Jim's suicide from his POV. And I even did some research and people do survive bullet wounds through the mouth if they angle it right. Also, when he fell to the ground, he still had his hand raised and it didn't drop until he actually hit the ground. So, unless it was an unlikely mistake, he was still concious. I WANT MY BABY TO LIVE. Anyway. Spoilers. I wrote this cos I was watching it this morning while I had a horrible headache and I was doped up on painkillers. Shush. On with the story.**

—-

Oh, God. I screwed up, I screwed up.

"-If I've got you."

Sherlock danced around me, his big coat swishing through the air triumphantly. His coat could almost be another entity. I tried to think of something to say, drawing up blanks in the panic hazing through my brain, the only thought was; 'What about Seb?'

"Oh, you think you can make me stop the order, you think you can make me do that?"

My stomach twisted, I felt sick. Fuck.

"Yes. So do you," he walked around me again, behind me.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the kings horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to," I fought hard to keep my voice from shaking, but that didn't stop my hands.

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember." he stood in front of me again, I knew that he could see exactly what I was feeling and I highly doubted that he even cared. I almost stopped listening, "I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you."

It was all a bit of a jumble to me, he seemed so tall. Seb's height. It took me everything I had to make sure I didn't shake. "No, you talk big. No… You're ordinary, you're ordinary, you're on the side of the Angels. "

"I may be on the side of the Angels. But don't think for one second that I am one of them."

He looked straight into my eyes. No doubt seeing the grief that I so desperately wanted to hide. I couldn't be weak. I couldn't. I wanted to do something, I wanted to shout at him, scream and cry because now I knew that I would be leaving Seb behind.

_"I'll be back later today, I'll assign you to John shall I?"_

I would never have said Goodbye. No, stop thinking, he'll see something.

"No," I said, breaking eye contact for a fraction of a second, "You're not," I shut my eyes, forcing tears back and smiling. Hoping that Sherlock will fall for it. "You see," tears started to prickle, "You're not ordinary, no. You're me. You're me! Thank you. Sherlock Holmes," I take his hand in mine, hoping that he didn't notice it shaking, "Thank you, bless you. As long as I'm alive you can save your friends," plan. Plan! I needed a plan. I have a gun. Seb cleaned it out an loaded it this morning. Ok. There was still a way to- no. He wouldn't buy it. Prepare to die. "You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that," I yank one of the guns from the inside of my jacket, set it and bring it up.

Sherlock jumped back from me, pushing my hand away. I was going to keep him close, maybe try and convince him that I was still alive.

By sheer luck, I picked up the gun Seb had loaded with specially made bullets. That much was apparent because I was still concious until I hit the ground, warmth of the blood spreading down my neck and under my head. I convinced Sherlock, I saw him start to panic before my vision cut out and I fell unconscious.

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><p><strong>I know it's a bit... impossible. But do you think it could happen? My Jim can't die! D;<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I actually sobbed all the way though this impromptu chapter as inspired by .net/u/2932873/ErinLindsey524 's review.  
>I actually considered finishing this tomorrow, I seriously couldn't breathe for most of it. I guess I'm really really attached to Jim and Seb. Oh well. I hope this is satisfactory.<strong>

* * *

><p>Seb.<p>

I wiggled my nose, trying to get rid of that horrible stench of blood… Jim's blood. I felt like throwing up, I couldn't deal with this! No, no, when -if- I made an effort to correct myself, if Jim woke up… God. I don't know what I would do. The fucking bastard slipped up. He slipped and ruined the whole fucking plan. I clenched my fists in my lap, watching Jim die was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I would literally do anything to go back and fix it, I just wanted to be sure he would wake up. I wanted so bad… I couldn't stop the flood breaking the barriers and the vision of Jim lying in the bed, hooked up to machines fitted by an actual medical doctor who I may or may not have threatened to get here. I fell onto the side of the bed, placing on hand on his damaged body… just to make sure he was still breathing.

The next morning Jim was awake, but just barely. He looked at me through his eyelashes and I could tell he was in a lot of pain. The doctor told me at an un-godly hour of the morning that he wouldn't survive, the chemicals and the heat of the gun had burned through his lungs and his throat. He told me that he wouldn't make it another week and even if he did he wouldn't be able to breathe properly for the rest of his life.  
>"Jim, I'm sorry," I said, taking his hand in mine and watching his face closely for any emotion.<br>He shook his head before seemingly realizing that it was a mistake, made obvious by the pain showing clearly in his eyes. He couldn't speak of course, tubes shoved down his throat in an effort to keep him alive. We didn't have enough money or space for that matter to have a bypass machine until he healed. If he was going to die, then it would be sooner rather than later.  
>"I can't…" no, stop. Stop please Sebastian. You can't cry now. You'd be showing him that you really really do care. Jim hardly cared about you. "I can't sit here and watch you die. I can't even-" I took a shuddering breath, shutting my eyes, "I can't even fucking have a conversation with you!"<br>When I opened my eyes again, Jim was crying. I was completely taken aback at the grief behind his eyes. Does this meant he… _cared_ for me? He raised one hand to place it on my forearm. His brown eyes flickered shut and for a second I thought they weren't going to open again and my heart skipped a beat when they did.  
>"Do you want anything?" I asked, my voice was so thick with emotion it was almost impossible to speak. "Do you need anything?"<br>He nodded and I felt his hand tense around mine and he winced. I could almost feel the pain myself. What would Jim possibly want? To live, maybe. But what? He opened his eyes again and formed his left hand into an object and wiggled it. Puzzled, I frowned. He rolled his eyes and made it more pronounced. Writing?  
>"A pen?"<br>He gave me a thumbs up and half smiled around the tube. I nodded and pulled one from my pocket and placed it in his hand. What could he want with a pen? He shifted his right hand down my arm and pulled it over to him. I was slightly reluctant, wondering briefly if he might stab me with it. But instead he started writing on my hand. I couldn't read it upside down, I could hardly read his messy writing at the best of times, but he seemed to be concentrating extra hard on making it neat. I felt a pang of grief stab me in the chest when he placed a -badly- drawn heart on my ring finger. It was then that I looked back up to his face, his eyebrows were knitted together in concentration and tears still stained his face. He finished and let go of me.

_Dear Sebastian. I do love you. Remember that when I die please. -JM _

Oh God. Don't do this to me Jim! Please. I couldn't quite swim out this flood and I collapsed on to the side of the bed, Jim's fingers running through my hair as my shoulders shook. I shouldn't be crying in front of Jim. It wasn't right. But by now I could hardly breathe and now my head was fuzzy with panic. I felt his hand clench around my hair, pulling it and alerting me.  
>"Wh-what?" I asked.<br>He blinked a few times, systematically and controlled. —…- - …. D e a t h. And suddenly I could feel the life slipping out of my grasp. He looked directly at me and I saw his heart rate start to slow on the monitor. 70… 65…. 60. His eyelids started to droop and the only thing I could think to do was probably the stupidest thing I could ever have done. … —- .-. .-. -.— S o r r y. Was his next message. I held the top of the tube and the beat quickened by a few before I yanked the tube out. Jim cried out in pain, one hand finding my arm and holding on tight.  
>"I'm sorry!" I cried, placing the tube on the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"<br>He looked me dead in the eyes, desperation, fear and pain running down his cheeks in fountains. "Seb," he managed to choke it out, just barely understandable. "Love… you."  
>I leaned down to him, kissing him softly on the lips and for a second he kissed back before I heard the monitor flatline beside me.<p>

Two days later I buried him. Behind our house in the country. The one he bought himself after he finished college. I stood at the wonky cross placed in the back corner, the dog tags he made for himself hanging off the middle of it, the detachable tag was inside the make shift coffin I constructed overnight with him. Wrapped around one finger. It wouldn't fit on his toe. The thought scared me. A lot. I placed the shovel on the ground beside me before following it down and sitting cross legged on the grass.  
>"Jim… I… please. You must- you must hear me out. You- you were never there for me. I never really believed that you…" I could hardly say the words. "Loved me. I thought the relationship was mostly one sided," I chuckled bitterly at that and splayed a hand over the freshly turned earth. "I honestly don't know how I'm going to live after this. I have enough food out here to last me a month… then I'm out. I can go on for seven weeks I guess… that's enough time to cry myself to sleep every night. Isn't it?" I read the words still on my hand. "Maybe I should tattoo these on my hand? At least then I'll never forget you. Even in death the skin will linger and the ink won't fade from it. If I could I would take everything back, go back to the start and save you this pain of caring about someone. I would do anything for you to be back here!"<br>I fisted the dirt in my hand and watched it fall over the top of it.  
>"I wished that it was raining today, not sunny. The world should be sad that Jim Moriarty is gone. Mother Nature should cry."<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Decided to pick this one back up, I'll continue with each day as something happens as often as I can if there's interest...**

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><p>Day One:<p>

Well, all I can say is that it's cold. Really, really, really cold. Freezing one might say. This little country house in the middle of no where really does get unusually cold at night, I don't even know why. I guess because it was raining really really hard, cats and dogs. Buckets. Pouring. Wet just wet, water everywhere... leaking through the ceiling and landing in the little buckets and pans I had set up with a soft _plonk. _I sighed, thinking of the freshly turned earth in the backyard, hopefully it wouldn't melt away. I mean, that's very unlikely, but you know me. Or I think you know me. I had to get up and check. Fucking idiot. I stood up in my baggy sweat pants and layers and layers of shirts and jumpers and jackets and went to the window. The panes were mostly untouched by the rain as the awning mostly covered it, but the effort was fruitless. I couldn't see anything even if I tried, the rain was too heavy. I stood there for a full five minutes trying to spot that little wooden cross. That patch of brown dirt. Until the rain cleared ever so slightly, just enough to see the dirt. And I was right, it didn't melt away at all, it just got soggy and the cross had fallen over. I looked away, suddenly almost falling over as the weight of the last three days hit me.

I could never have imagined this would happen... I guess I thought that Jim was mine. I guess I thought that he would always make it out on time, I guess I thought that he wouldn't just leave me here!

"I don't understand!"

The words tumbled from my mouth in a somewhat despairing and angry way, making me feel guilty as soon as I figured out what in fact I had just said. I didn't cry. Not because I didn't want to... but because I thought I saw him. I thought I saw him. Standing out in the rain in his Westwood suit, sodden and dirty and horrible. But then he was gone with a violent flash of lightening and a loud clap of thunder that sent me reeling. I gripped onto the window sill with both hands, not forgetting what I thought I just saw. Figure- no. _Figures_. In the backyard. They all looked demonic in appearance and my fathers words flashed through my head, _Demons, Sebastian. Are all around us. It's up to you to leave them be. _Guess I fucking disturbed the demons then didn't I?

Lightening flashed again and I saw them again. Swirly black mist just lying above the grass, floating or mingling with the stems. This time there was more lightening, lots and lots of it in one big long continuous flash. Thunder rolled across the sky, starting out as a low rumble before booming loudly. But I hardly noticed it as I kept my eyes on the figure in the middle in a Westwood suit. Dirty and sodden and unwearable. As soon as the lights went out I knew that he was here with me, I knew he was in this room with me. And I was right. As I shone my iPhone around the room I caught sight of him about two metres away from me, he looked ghastly for the lack of a better word. He had bags under his eyes and he was pale. Very, very, pale. He eyes weren't shining like they usually would be, they were dull and dead and... oddly not familiar. Oddly not my Jim. He looked like my Jim. But everything was off, his scent, his overall... look. Was just wrong. Until he casted those dead eyes up at me and almost as if on cue, the backlight of the phone dimmed, blacked out a few seconds later. I felt hands around my waist. Tugging, pulling me closer.

"Leave me alone!" again with the not thinking before I speak.

The hands got tighter, seemed to grow claws that dug into my side and forced a cry of pain from my throat. I was about to hit him, lash out, but then I felt like something was lifting me...

I awoke, slowly, pulling my eyelids apart almost painfully to bright sunlight falling on my face. It was still chilly and we really did have a storm last night, that much was evident from the still dripping ceiling. But I didn't have time to think about last night, well, I couldn't stop thinking about the fucking nightmares I'll have now. I need sleep. And then every night when I go to sleep or finally drop off from exhaustion I'll be greeted with his face again. And again. And again. Maybe just suicide would be the fucking easiest thing. Maybe... maybe...

That was probably the last rational thought I had for the day, the rest of it was just strings of 'Hungry' or 'What the fuck is on telly?' between sobs. I wouldn't admit to it if anyone asked though, of course. Of course I wouldn't.


End file.
